


Never Turn to Night

by Suzelle



Series: Blades and Bucklers [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cassandra Pentaghast is So Done, Conflict Resolution, Gen, Haven (Dragon Age), POV Cassandra Pentaghast, POV Lavellan (Dragon Age), Pre-Relationship, Warrior Lavellan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:48:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27126760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzelle/pseuds/Suzelle
Summary: She’d done her best to stay on everyone’s good side in this strange place, painfully aware of the whispers that followed her and the weight that rested on her shoulders. And truly, who was she to interfere with the spymaster’s decision? The senior members of the Inquisition sought her opinions in the war room, true, but she still largely questioned their wisdom in doing so.After convincing Leliana not to kill her traitor agent, Lavellan faces a crises of confidence.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor & Leliana (Dragon Age), Female Inquisitor/Cassandra Pentaghast, Female Lavellan & Cassandra Pentaghast, Female Lavellan & Leliana (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan/Cassandra Pentaghast
Series: Blades and Bucklers [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1914196
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	Never Turn to Night

**Author's Note:**

> I have always thought that if Leliana got annoyed with me the way she gets annoyed with the Inquisitor when they persuade her not to kill the traitor agent I'd have simply died on the spot. Which is what Lavellan very much wishes to do!
> 
> Thanks as always to Salvage for the beta.

“Now, if you’re happy, I’ve more work to do.” 

Shohreh’s face burned at the dismissal, and she turned on her heel to walk briskly from the tent, Leliana’s simmering displeasure following her all the way back to her quarters. She hated that they’d given her an entire cabin to herself, but she was grateful for it now, trembling slightly as she sank to the edge of the bed and buried her head in her hands.

She’d done her best to stay on everyone’s good side in this strange place, painfully aware of the whispers that followed her and the weight that rested on her shoulders. And truly, who was she to interfere with the spymaster’s decision? The senior members of the Inquisition sought her opinions in the war room, true, but she still largely questioned their wisdom in doing so. She understood little of agents and secrets, or what danger Butler might pose if he lived. But the soldiers she’d killed in the Hinterlands haunted her dreams, merging with the green nightmare of the Fade when she skirted the edge of memory. She hated it, more than anything else she’d done since waking up in chains, and she could not condone any further killing. The Inquisition did not strike her as a place to honor ideals, but if they were to make her the face of their holy war, the least they could do was listen when she stood by her beliefs.

Besides, Varric told her killing off characters in his books was the soft option—much more fun to let them live, inventing new tortures for the reader. She snorted at the memory. Likely for the best she hadn’t framed it that way to Leliana.

She would dissolve into tears if she brooded inside for much longer, so she stepped outside, the bracing wind settling her somewhat. She gave the spymaster’s tent a wide berth as she walked back out to the soldiers’ encampment in search of Cassandra. The Seeker was predictable, she’d learned that much, and Shohreh found her beside her favored practice dummy in the training grounds, running through a series of strikes in a way that almost looked elegant.

Shohreh watched silently, admiring the precise nature of the blows, the way they reflected the Seeker’s steadfast nature. She should hate Cassandra, really. The Right Hand of the Divine spent years executing the Chantry’s will, and the Chantry held nothing but contempt for her people. But something about Cassandra’s fierce convictions spoke to Shohreh, her willingness to abandon all she’d known for what she believed was right. And she felt stable, reliable—two things Shohreh sorely needed while she stumbled through the Inquisition. 

“Care to join?” Cassandra finally caught her staring and lowered her sword.

“Another time, perhaps,” Shohreh answered. She became terribly self-conscious when training in sight of Inquisition soldiers, and she’d blundered enough in Cassandra’s presence while in the Hinterlands. 

Cassandra nodded, spent another two minutes pummeling the dummy, before she sheathed her sword and walked back into the village. Shohreh trailed after her, at a loss for what else to do. She wanted nothing more than to talk to someone about what she’d said to Leliana, or to just talk, period, about how she missed home or something as frivolous as Varric’s books. But she could not show vulnerability to anyone here, could not be seen to falter. She hated her status as Herald of Andraste—what utter shit—but she knew it was all that protected her. And those touched by the divine did not bend.

Cassandra finally stopped in the middle of the path, and turned to regard Shohreh with resigned patience. “Do you need something, Herald?”

“No,” Shohreh replied instantly, then realized how much of a lie that was. “Well, I only…can I talk to you about something? I’m afraid I made a terrible mistake.”

Cassandra’s brow furrowed in concern. “Of course.”

***

Cassandra led the Herald into a secluded corner of Haven’s tavern, ordering a pair of drinks for the both of them, though she had little desire to touch any ale. The tavern’s warmth was not ideal after an hour sweating in the training grounds, but Lavellan seemed to uncurl silently before the fire, her body’s coiled tension softening. Lavellan nursed her drink in silence, sipping as little as Cassandra, until Cassandra slowly tugged the story out of her. Lavellan looked miserable as she told her of the confrontation with the Left Hand, her doubts laid bare on the table. Cassandra listened, careful for once to keep her expression neutral, though her frustration slowly mounted as Lavellan relayed the harsh words exchanged.

“I fear I am at odds with what the Inquisition desires,” she said softly. “And I do not wish to get in your way. Truly, you’ve all placed too much trust in me, trust not deserved.”

 _I am going to kill Leliana,_ Cassandra thought. She worried enough about whether the Herald would one day decide to go back to her clan. She’d rarely encountered such staunch idealism in someone who wielded a blade as well as Lavellan, and she wondered again at her age. She’d no doubt shouldered her own struggles, living among the Dalish, but they were so clearly different from those Cassandra and Leliana faced under Justinia. And, Cassandra was coming to realize, that was not necessarily a bad thing. 

“Lavell—Shohreh,” she amended, remembering the Herald hated being called by her clan name, “tell me something, and answer honestly. Do you still see us as arms of the Chantry? Executors of its will?”

The Herald hesitated, her cheeks flushed red beneath her tattoos, before she nodded. “I suppose I do. It’s hard not to, with who you were, where we are.”

“I understand,” Cassandra said. “But understand this, too. We broke with the Chantry because those who remain cling to the old ways like children. I will always value parts of the Chantry, and I wish to honor those. But we broke because things must _change_. You, certainty, are change. You see things differently than the rest of us, but I value that. Leliana does too. Otherwise she would not have listened to you.”

Lavellan nodded again, before she sighed and clutched at her temples with one hand. “Is she always so frightening?”

Cassandra bared her teeth in a wicked grin. “You have no idea.” 

Lavellan snorted, and she turned the conversation to other, simpler matters, asking how she knew Cullen and Josephine and inquiring about life with the Seekers. Confusion dogged Cassandra for much of the conversation, uncertain of Lavellan’s intentions, until the truth finally hit her with such sudden clarity she wondered how she hadn’t seen it before. The Herald was lonely, terribly so, and for Maker knew what reason sought companionship with Cassandra. 

Flissa eventually brought them supper while they talked, and they did not leave the tavern until well past sundown. It did Cassandra as much good as it did Lavellan, she realized belatedly, to talk for the sake of camaraderie—life had been nothing but death and doom since the Breach appeared. Lavellan looked decidedly more cheerful when she bid Cassandra goodnight. Cassandra watched her walk back to the Herald’s cabin, fondness filling her in spite of herself, before she turned and marched straight to the spymaster’s tent. Leliana stood bent over a table, scribbling furiously, and did not acknowledge Cassandra’s presence.

“I want you to spend time with the Herald,” she said by way of greeting. Leliana looked up from her work with a scowl, lamplight illuminating dark circles under her eyes.

“What on earth for?”

“You upset her this afternoon, this business with Butler. I understand your reaction, but she’s terrified of you. That cannot stand.”

Leliana’s glower deepened. “How is it she’s terrified of me but clings to you like a shadow?” 

“Ironic, isn’t it.” Cassandra’s mouth twitched. “Perhaps the Maker has developed a sense of humor.”

“It’s a rather cruel one,” Leliana snapped, but she sank into a nearby chair, running a gloved hand over her face. Cassandra watched her in silence. 

“She was right,” Leliana said softly. “I think that’s why it angered me. I have sacrificed so much of myself these past years, in the service of necessity. To think ideals are not a luxury…I felt that way once. It angers me I cannot feel it now.”

“All the more reason to spend time with her,” Cassandra said, as if it were the most logical thing in the world. “Perhaps you can feel it again. Maker knows I could use a dose of it myself.”

“She’s going to be the death of us all. Or the salvation. I wouldn’t place money on either right now.”

“You should consult Varric,” Cassandra said dryly. “I’m sure he’s got a pool running.” 

Leliana snorted before lapsing back into silence, and Cassandra did not press the issue further. She knew Leliana enough to understand the Left Hand would think on her words, and extend an overture to Lavellan in her own time. She gave a short nod in farewell, turning to leave, but stopped at the sight of the Chantry aglow against the night, its windows soft with candlelight, an invitation to take solace in the Maker and all that he promised. 

“Leliana?” she said softly. “I miss her, too.”

***

Shohreh rose early, stomach rumbling, and she set out in search of some breakfast. The quartermaster usually had a pot of something going in the morning, and she’d developed a penchant for the strong, bitter coffee that some of the soldiers partook in. Sometimes Varric joined her, but more often she ate alone, finding a quiet log somewhere to sit and prepare for the day.

Varric was nowhere to be seen, but to her surprise, Leliana stood beside the cookfire, a ready smile on her lips. Shohreh tensed, yesterday hanging over her, but Leliana merely nodded in greeting.

“Do you enjoy tea, Lady Herald?”

The Dalish did not have herbal drinks that matched the shemlen's definition of tea, but Shohreh remembered the scent of bergamot from Ansburg, sipping it on quiet afternoons after studying swordplay. “Well enough.” 

“Join me then, please.” Leliana gestured back to the spymaster’s tent, and Shohreh followed in trepidation. A simple clay pot and two cups sat on one of the tables, and Leliana poured tea into both cups before offering one to Shohreh. The scent took her back to Rosemary’s study, and Shohreh inhaled deeply rather than sipping. 

“Your accent has changed,” Leliana commented.

Shohreh looked up with a start, stomach clenched. “I beg your pardon?" 

“When you first awoke, you spoke like other Dalish I’ve encountered. But now you sound like a human Marcher, one of the northern cities. I admit to some curiosity." 

Shohreh suppressed a great sigh. Trust the spymaster to have noticed such a thing. She’d shifted to the coarse Marcher voice of her childhood at some point in the Hinterlands, in the hopes it might set the humans she spoke with at ease. So many whispers against elves still followed her; it seemed a practical layer of protection. 

“I left my clan for a period of years,” she said at last, and gestured to the vallaslin on her face. “Before I got these. I lived in Ansburg, but among humans, not in the alienage.”

Leliana raised her eyebrows in surprise. “That must have been difficult." 

“Educational, certainly.” Shohreh did not wish to talk about her clan or her childhood. “You can tell whatever agent you send snooping to go see Guard-Captain Rosemary Cooper. She’ll give you the full tale.” 

Leliana took a careful sip of tea. “I will not send anyone if you do not wish it. Your Keeper has vouched for you, and you have certainly proven yourself trustworthy.

“...oh.” Shohreh did not expect that. “I’m glad to hear it, then.”

They drank together in silence, Shohreh picking at the bowl of porridge she’d brought in from the quartermaster’s pot. Leliana’s face did not betray any further intentions, and Shohreh could not help but feel profoundly awkward.

“Leliana, about yesterday, I--” 

“It is as I said. You have proven yourself trustworthy. That means I must trust you.” Leliana finally set her tea down and rested her elbows on her knees, gloved hands steepled together. “But I did not ask you here to discuss matters of the Inquisition. I wished to offer an exchange.” 

Shohreh furrowed her brow, now thoroughly confused. “An exchange?” 

“You asked me for stories about Bard life. I obfuscated, as is my nature.” Leliana shot her a mischievous smile. “But I find I am in want of stories myself. I cannot be out in the field with my agents, and it lends to a solitary life. So I propose this: I shall tell you a story for each one you bring me in return. It can be of your past or your present, though I confess a longing for tales of your exploits in the field. I need new material with which to tease Cassandra, after all.” 

Shohreh chuckled, before disbelief settled over her and she eyed Leliana with some suspicion. “Truly?” 

“Truly.” Leliana’s smile turned warm. “If we are to work together, we ought to find spaces where we can bring each other happiness. I hope this might accomplish that.” 

“I think it will.” Shohreh smiled in turn. Relief rushed through her at Leliana’s offer, rendering her lighter than she’d felt in weeks. Perhaps she did not stumble as terribly as she’d thought yesterday. Surely Leliana would not make such overtures if she remained angry about the matter of Butler. 

They spoke until it came time for the council meeting, Leliana telling her more of her life with the Hero of Ferelden, and Shohreh found herself more relaxed than she’d been for any council meeting. She greeted Cullen and Josephine without her instinctive shyness, and even felt bold enough to make one of the wry comments she’d previously have kept to herself. Cassandra sat in the back corner of the room, uncharacteristically silent, and for a moment Shohreh thought she caught a satisfied smile on the Seeker’s face. But she must have imagined it. Cassandra was never satisfied with anything. 

  
  



End file.
